DISCLAIMER: I do not, cannot and will not own any created content of BTS and BigHit, nor do I, can I and will I earn any profits from this fiction of work. This fiction is for assignment purposes only. Word count excluding this disclaimer is approximately 1100 words.
"The bird fights its way out of the egg. The egg is the world. Who would be born must first destroy a world. The bird flies to God. That God's name is Abraxas."
Hermann Hesse
Silence.
A powerful element when left alone. An element that is powerful once left alone. It fills every nook and cranny, slowly taking over all forms of space and dimension. Noise can be made, yes, but it can never conceal silence. It is always there, waiting patiently for the noise to subside, its claws slowly enveloping the egg that is known as the world.
The mansion, situated far away from human civilization, painted a picture of visual perfection. Soft pastel colours decorated the walls to replace the absence of ornaments. The rooms, however, were generously decorated with a mixture of furniture and clutter of all kinds. It was clear that someone had been taking great care of the mansion, as the rooms remained in pristine condition, as if all impurities were magically blocked out of the mansion.
In the simplistic decorated dining room, a man sat at the dining table quietly. Like the mansion, he was an image of divine perfection; sharp facial features that exhibits beauty of a porcelain doll paired with a wide yet lean frame oozing with masculine sensuality. His face, free of blemishes and scars, was carefully arranged into a mask of neutral serenity. His silver locks looked unkempt yet neat at the same time. A silver earpiece was hooked to his left ear, which played soothing, classical music. The man appeared to be at ease, clearly under the effects of the music, but his rigid posture hinted otherwise.
Cutlery, wine glasses and some decorations were laid out neatly on the smooth surface of the dining table. A candlestand was lit to provide sufficient light and warmth to the room. On the plate sat a big, juicy red apple which promised a moment of soothing sweetness and pleasure to the consumer. The man remained seated, his dark eyes fixated on the clutter in front of him. He plucked out his earpiece carelessly, his gaze sweeping down to meet the fruit. With the same careless manner, he lifted the fruit to his nose to inhale its scent, then dropped it to the floor without a word.
The man produced a polaroid camera out of nowhere, and positioned it to the front. A vase of white lilies had captured his attention, so he transformed it into a still image with a magical click. The warm glow of the candles disappeared together with the resounding clicking sound. The man looked slightly confused at the sudden change of atmosphere, and willed himself not to panic once darkness started setting in.
He failed.
Moments later he exited the room with hazy eyes, letting his instincts to guide him down a corridor with heavy steps. A set of doors showed themselves at the end of the corridor, with the apple from the dining room perched near the door frame. The doors swung open automatically, revealing a brightly lit bedroom filled with more clutter. Something told the man those held special meanings to him, but he couldn't recall any of them.
The doors closed behind the man with a loud creak. He sank onto the bed across the doors, dark vacant orbs fixated on the animalistic scratch marks left behind by an unknown source. Once again, he did the impossible by producing a lighter out of thin air, and started playing with it by flickering the flame. Six lily petals, freshly picked from the lilies back in the dining room, appeared on the spot of the bed next to him. Learning not to question anything right from the start, the man just grabbed them, knelt down on the floor and lit them on fire.
He could feel the effects almost immediately. Strong waves of dizziness hit him, causing him to stumble back onto the bed clumsily. He curled up into a ball, desperately defending himself from the warped visions of the room. Choking back the want to puke, the man sat up immediately, his eyes catching sight of a bird flying past the window through the translucent curtains. Out of wonder, the man drew back the curtains, only to find a reflection of himself staring back at him.
Drip, Drip. Drop.
The sound it produced when he gave the invisible mirror a light tap was mystifying. Momentarily in awe of the new discovery, the man caught sight of a new presence behind him, and turned around to investigate. He was quick to clamber down and leave the room, where a dark corridor awaited him.
This time, there was an ornately framed painting hung at the end of the corridor. The man stalked towards it as though he was hypnotized. He didn't notice the apple at his feet, silently beckoning him to pick it up. Instead, he just traced a careless hand across the intricate wallpaper that donned the walls, his eyes still glazed over. Upon reaching the painting, the man studied it with silent fascination. The image of a dark raven spreading its humongous wings invoked a mixture of emotions within him, mainly nostalgia and pain. The art style was simple; huge thick strokes of oil paint with a minimalistic colour palette of blue and black, but the aura it emitted was powerful.
However strong the magnetic aura of the painting may be, it wasn't enough to stop the man in his tracks, for the bright light of another corridor was more alluring. Tearing his gaze from the hypnotic painting, the man slowly made his way into the light, the echoes of his footsteps fading away. For once, his stance was relaxed, his movements were slower, and his expression morphed into one of true zen.
Everything descended into silence once again. The man was gone, eternally free from the darkness and the claustrophobic atmosphere of the mansion. On the floor where the petals were last seen burning, six polaroid pictures laid there, still fresh from the print. One by one, images started revealing themselves, each of them sharing a connection to the former tenant of the mansion.
The edge of a mirror reflecting off of a blue carpet. A drawing of a mother cuddling with her precious son. A red juicy apple abandoned on the floor. An old wooden piano showing off its pristine black and white keys. The raven drawing that was still hung on the wall. The back of the doors that were covered in harsh, angry scratches of a violent perpetrator.
That perpetrator was Abraxas.